Solo Girl
by Wickwire
Summary: What's it like on the other side of the Uncle communicators?


Bethany Solo was nervous. Her hands were sweating in a most unladylike way and she felt like her stomach was full of glass. She stepped down the short flight of steps and into Del Floria's Tailor shop. She grinned nervously at the man standing behind the counter. It was not Del Floria. In fact, she had learned, there was no Del Floria. Just a series of Italian looking middle aged men who had been given several months of training for their advance guard position in the main entrance to UNCLE headquarters. She'd never seen this particular Del Floria, but it didn't matter. They were trained to recognize established agents and new employees alike. She entered the dressing room and turned the hook on the back wall and, after the sound of the steam of the pressing machine, the wall swung inward and she stepped into an alternate universe.

She been here before, of course. She had had to undergo a score of tests and interviews before she was hired. Then six months of training at UNCLE training facilities in Newark, with occasional visits to HQ. So she was somewhat used to the monochromatic metal floors, walls and ceilings. However it was still somewhat intimidating as she was unescorted this time and the young woman sitting at the desk looked decidedly unfriendly.

"Identify yourself," the woman snapped.

"Bethany Solo," she answered quickly, extending her hand for the badge that she would be given.

Instead, the young woman's head whipped up in a double take that took Bethany by surprise. "Solo?" She looked Bethany up and down in an appraising fashion and handed her a yellow triangular shaped badge. "Are you related to Napoleon?"

Bethany blinked in confusion. "No, I don't think so." Why the hell would this woman think she was related to some French emperor?

The receptionist seemed to loose interest almost immediately and allowed her to enter the second set of doors.

Bethany pinned the badge onto her jacket and strode down the hallway until she reached the first bank of elevators. She pressed the down arrow and waited patiently as men in suits and women in the same black pencil skirt and yellow blouse-the uniform that waited for her in the locker room-hurried up and down the hall around her. Her street apparel was a modest tangerine skirt and white blouse, with matching jacket. However, she felt out of place and several people looked at her curiously as they passed.

Well, it was to be expected. Her new position here at UNCLE was as a communications operator, and as such she would be working on one of the more secure levels. From now on she would be required to wear the standard uniform, including the small gun that she would wear in a holster at the small of her back. She'd scored well in her marksmanship class. She would be receiving her uniform today and from now on would be expected to enter UNCLE through a special door two blocks down. It would be a little suspicious to see a veritable army of women entering Del Floria's dressed the same.

When she reached the appropriate level and exited the elevator, she was greeted by a young woman, who held her hand out for a handshake.

"Miss Solo, I'm Brenda Marks. I'll be handling your orientation."

Bethany shook her hand, noting the woman's firm and confident grip. "Hello. Nice to meet you."

"Same here. We'll be working together in communications. Let's go down to the locker room and get you your uniform."

"All right," Bethany agreed. She fell into step with Brenda.

"I know you've been through all the training so you know technically what this job is all about," Brenda said as they walked. "What I'd like to to teach you is why you do the job at all."

Bethany nodded like she understood but she really didn't.

Brenda continued. "Anyone can speak in a mike. Anyone can relay messages. If that's all you think of the job, you might as well be a receptionist."

Bethany bridled at the implied insult but kept her mouth shut. What the hell had she done to deserve that remark?

They reached the locker room and Brenda showed her around. She allowed her to change and provided her with her holster and weapon. It was all back to normal. Brenda couldn't have been nicer. Bethany was beginning to think she might have misunderstood what her instructor had meant.

As the day wore on, she felt she must have taken an isolated statement all out of proportion. Brenda was very friendly, very helpful and very encouraging. They toured the communications center, went over the various forms and documents, and reviewed the recording equipment. It was all that Bethany could have expected and more. Everyone was very courteous to her and she started to feel a lot more comfortable. At noon, she and Brenda went down to the UNCLE commissary for lunch. She met a myriad of people: researchers, medical personnel, more communications employees, archivists, couriers, and scientists. She also met a couple of section two agents. The spies. The backbone of UNCLE.

Brenda led Bethany over to a table where two men sat. One was a dark haired man, rather handsome and smartly dressed, who was chatting with his table partner. Or rather, chatting at his table partner. It looked to Bethany as if the other man, a fair haired individual wearing a pair of tinted glasses, was totally ignoring the man across the table. His attention seemed totally absorbed in the file in front him. However, as they neared she could hear the blond man answering, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"I thought Sheila said you lied to her."

"Illya, I'm telling you that Sheila could not have been more wrong."

Without looking up the other man replied. "Why? Because for the first time in your life a girl didn't fall for your one of your lines?"

"That kind of insult is beneath you, tovarish."

"Not really."

Brenda cleared her throat and waited for the two men to look up. The dark haired man took in both woman with an appreciative look, his face breaking into a dazzling smile. The other man removed his glasses and looked up at them, revealing a pair of the bluest eyes Bethany had ever seen.

"Hi, Napoleon, Illya. I wanted to introduce you to someone," Brenda said.

Both men stood up politely, their attention tuned to the newcomer.

"Bethany, this is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. They are section 2 agents. Guys, this is Bethany Solo." Brenda managed to make her last name sound like a surprise. But then Bethany supposed it was. She gazed up at the tall dark haired man in astonishment.

"Solo?" She repeated stupidly. "Wow, I've never met another Solo before!" She then blushed in embarrassment. "I mean, besides my own family... I mean the ones I know...I mean..."

Napoleon laughed . "I think I know what you mean." He seemed genuinely interested in her. "Maybe we're related. My family's originally from Italy. Most of us now hale from New England."

Bethany returned his smile. "I grew up in Oregon. I'm guessing we're not related."

"At the very worst 'kissing cousins.'"

She laughed at the phrase. "It's just that I'm so used to being the only Solo in a crowd."

"Hence the name solo," Illya Kuryakin stated wryly. He held out his hand to her and she shook it firmly. "It is very nice to meet you, Miss Solo. I certainly won't forget your name."

"Nice to meet you, too." She noted his Russian accent.

Napoleon edged back into her line of sight. "Have you had lunch yet? Would you care to join us?"

Brenda grinned. "Slow down, Solo. This little Solo still has to finish orientation ."

"It's just lunch, Brenda."

"Yes, please," Illya added. "I could use some stimulating conversation. I'm stuck with this monument to American fatuousness."

Napoleon shot him a glare but refused to rise to the bait. "Come on. Join us."

Bethany looked at Brenda hopefully and the other woman just shook her head tolerantly. "And another one bites the dust."

Illya chuckled and held out a chair for Brenda as Napoleon did the honors for Bethany. Once seated, Napoleon waved to a cafeteria worker and arranged to have their lunches brought to the table.

"What are you going to be doing here?" Napoleon asked.

"I've been hired for communications."

"Ah, that means we'll probably be talking to each other a lot. You ladies are our lifeline."

Illya nodded in agreement. He had put his glasses in his jacket and tossed the file on the floor near his feet. "Absolutely. I sometimes wonder how you manage to get what we need so quickly."

"Training, Illya." Brenda said. "Lot's of it."

"No doubt. But sometimes we ask for the strangest things and you don't seem to blink an eye."

Brenda laughed. "Oh, we blink. You just can't see us."

"So when do you start?" Napoleon turned his attention to Bethany.

"I observe for a week before starting live work. I'll have a supervisor with me for a couple of weeks until I get comfortable with it. Probably, Brenda, here."

"That's right," Brenda agreed.

"Well, you couldn't do better than Brenda for a teacher. She's one of the best." Napoleon gave her a smile.

The cafeteria worker arrived with their lunches. She was a pretty young thing who winked flirtatiously at Napoleon as he arranged to have all the meals put on his tab.

They started to dig into their meals when a beeping sound went off that Bethany recognized as an UNCLE communicator. Napoleon pulled a pen shaped device from his inner jacket pocket. "Solo here," he answered in a businesslike tone.

The voice was Mr. Waverly himself, head of UNCLE Northwest.

"Is Mr. Kuryakin with you?" Came the terse reply.

"Yes sir."

"Good. I need to see you both immediately."

Both men stood up instantly, the Russian reaching for his file on the floor. "We've got to go. Sorry."

Napoleon looked apologetic."Duty calls." He turned to Bethany. "I hope I get to see you soon. Take good care of her, Brenda."

"Don't I always?"

He winked at her and followed his partner toward the door. Suddenly Illya turned around and came back to the table. "I don't know when I'll be able to eat again." He grabbed his sandwich and waved apologetically as he hurried after Napoleon. The two men left the commissary at a trot.

Bethany took a bite of her own sandwich. "They seem very nice," she said after she swallowed.

Brenda threw her a sharp look that Bethany could not interpret: angry, worried, accepting. "Yes, they are." Was all she said.

XXXXX

The next two weeks were a busy swirl of training, work and stress. Bethany had no idea that the job would entail so much anxiety. She had realized that it would be fast paced and urgent, but she had no idea how many demands would be made on her. Brenda was there to help her through all of them, thank God.

She got to know several of the other women. There were always at least a dozen on duty, even at night. "It doesn't matter if it's midnight here if it's the middle of the day wherever the agents are," Brenda explained.

She even had an opportunity to deal with the two agents she had met, Solo and Kuryakin. They had called in from Boston to ask for information on an import company. It had been an easy request which was relayed back from research in minutes. It had made her feel extra stressed though, as she waited for research to respond and she wondered if it was because it was those two men in particular who had called in. She didn't know the other agents, and that stress was bad enough.

Gradually, however, she began to get more comfortable with the variety and urgency of all the calls. Brenda said she was doing fine. She certainly hoped so.

XXXXX

It was on an evening shift, and Brenda had gone to file some paperwork, when Bethany received an open channel call. She confidently and efficiently answered the call.

"Channel F open. Go ahead."

At first she heard nothing. But then came a soft cough and a faint scraping noise. She checked the frequency. Solo and Kuryakin. Her heart began to race.

"Mr. Solo?"

A faint groan and another cough. Then: "Need help. Trapped."

She froze. Her first genuine emergency. She'd been trained thoroughly on what to do and shook herself out of her shock and did it.

"Leave your channel open."

There was no answer. Only that faint scraping sound. Oh, God.

"Mr. Solo, are you hurt? Mr. Solo! Napoleon!"

Leaving the channel open and half listening for further sounds, she toggled the emergency beacon and proceeded though the emergency procedures. She contacted Boston to see if they could get a fix on the transmission. She contacted the evening Section 2 chief and quickly described the situation. Without missing a beat she contacted medical to prepare for wounded. She tried to keep a check on her own rising worry.

Suddenly she heard another cough followed by a loud crash.

"Napoleon. What's happening?"

"Ceiling crumbling." Cough. "Illya half buried."

"Where are you?"

"Illya is hurt."

"We need to know your location."

"I can't ..."

"We need to know where you are," Bethany said firmly. "Help will come quicker if you can tell us where you are. We've started a trace but that takes time."

"Uh, right. Warehouse. Barker Street. 210, I think."

Bethany relayed the information directly to the rescue team that was already gearing up in the Boston office.

She was about to alert the Section 2 chief when Brenda walked back into the room. Instantly alerted to the Emergency light lit over Bethany's station, she hurried across the room, grabbing a headset and plugging into Bethany's position.

"What's the situation?"

Bethany had never felt so relieved in her life. She looked up and said in a choked voice, "It's Napoleon and Illya! I think they're both hurt."

Brenda's eyes flickered but that was the extent of her reaction. "Brief me."

And Bethany did so, going over everything that she had said or done and everything she had heard. Brenda only nodded in approval and they continued to handle the emergency as a team.

Two hours and forty-five minutes later, the two agents had been rescued, loaded into a helicopter and ensconced in UNCLE medical.

It took another two hours to fill out all the required reports.

At 3 am, when her shift ended, Bethany felt as if she had run a marathon. She signed out of her communications position and trudged toward the door. She was surprised to see Brenda waiting for her in the hall.

"Brutal, wasn't it?"

Bethany could only nod numbly.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired."

Brenda shook her head. "No, tell me what your overriding emotion is right now."

Bethany frowned at her. She had just spent the most harrowing night of her life and this woman was pressing her like a psychiatrist? Annoyed, she snapped, "Scared shitless!"

Brenda nodded. "And?"

What the hell did this woman want? She searched her own thoughts and feelings and suddenly realized where Brenda was going with this. "I feel worried. It's not over."

Brenda smiled approvingly. "You want to know how they are, don't you?"

Bethany sighed, her shoulders slumped, looking down at the floor. "I have never been so terrified in my life. Their lives were in my hands. What if I was too slow? What if I forgot a step? What if I made a mistake?" She looked bleakly up at her supervisor. "I just feel like I could have done better!" She blurted.

Now Brenda grinned and threw her arms around Bethany in a quick hug. "You are going to be a great Section 4 agent, my friend. This is what I try to get every one of my trainees to see. Some never do. Those men on the other end of that transmission have put their lives into your hands. Their calls are never silly, mundane or stupid. They need your help. Sometimes, like tonight, you know their lives depend upon how you do. But every call they make to you, their lives could depend upon how you do. Every single one."

Bethany suddenly understand what Brenda had been trying to tell her that first day. It was not just another job she had taken on. It was as vital to the field agents as their weapons. "Thank you, Brenda. I didn't understand. I see what you were trying to tell me. That call I received from them about the import company could have been vital. I had no way of knowing."

"Exactly." Brenda was still smiling but now sobered. "Do you want to go down to medical and see how they are?"

"We can do that?"

"Well, don't let the guys find out you're checking up on them, but sometimes we can get info from one of the nurses or doctors." She put her arm around her shoulder companionably. "Come on, let's go."

Medical was clear across the complex and on the first floor. When they got there they discovered a lot of activity. Bethany knew it was for the two agents. They waited patiently to one side until a nurse walked up to Brenda.

"Hey, Brenda," she said in a thick southern accent. "Were you on the call?"

"Nope. Our new person was. Annie, this is Bethany Solo."

Annie looked surprised. "Like Napoleon?"

"No relation." Bethany had been saying that quite a lot since she'd been employed.

Annie shrugged. "Well, they're both doing great. Illya broke a bone in his left hand, dislocated a shoulder and suffered a concussion. Napoleon had a broken rib that punctured a lung. Both will be fine, but they'll both be here a few days." She looked at Bethany. "I understand you did some quick work. That building collapsed only moments after they got them out. The rescue team said it was scary. The whole thing came down into the basement where they were."

Bethany could only stare at her in shock.

"Thanks, Annie," Brenda said, squeezing her shoulder. Annie returned the squeeze and walked away. Brenda turned backed to her charge. "Why don't you go on home? I'll see you tomorrow."

Bethany roused. "I don't think I could get any sleep."

"In that case, I know a little all night place. We can get a drink or two and follow it up with breakfast."

"God, that sounds good!"

Brenda grinned. "Come on, Solo girl. Your initiation is over. You're a full fledged Section 4 agent! Welcome to the ranks of UNCLE."

Bethany suddenly felt ridiculously pleased with herself. She had survived her trial by fire, and so had the agents. She could do this job. She returned Brenda's smile.

"Thank you, Brenda. Now let's go get that drink!"


End file.
